


New Neighbor

by quietScribe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Objectification, Stalking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietScribe/pseuds/quietScribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A neurotic, emotionally stunted Dirk Strider, living in the big city, is drawn to his internet-famous blogging sensation, Roxy, the new neighbor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Neighbor

At precisely 8:47 AM you wake.

Your morning routine consists of thirty minute shower, four minutes brushing your teeth, precisely fifteen minutes for a light breakfast, and then your day really begins. Of course, the previous evening you would always lay out your utensils and other morning items beforehand. The fork and spoon on opposite sides of the plates or bowls, perfectly straight, always on a napkin--nothing else was acceptable, even if you'd cleaned the table. The high rise apartment you resided in faced east, occupying a corner of a fourteen story building. Half of the walls were glass. 

Meticulously kept, ordered, and neat are words used to describe your home, and a certain amount of space was kept consistently between furniture items. Tight spaces bothered you. Even your daily attire had to be worn specific ways so as not to cause discomfort--all button-up shirts must be cuffed or rolled up to the elbows. Experiences as a child left you highly susceptible to panic attacks involving things touching or restraining you wrists. Otherwise, you cared little for your clothing, aside from it being as clean as the rest of your apartment.

As far as physical health, you are in top form for your twenty-and-some years of age. Your therapist had advised you many, many years back to consider the benefits of a discipline such as exercise, and it had worked wonders. A small area of your living room was dedicated to a mat, a handful of weights, and a bar you had installed yourself for pull-ups. 

You are a highly resourceful individual. From infancy your IQ had soared off the charts. Traditional education bored you--as much as you despised touching others, speaking to them, and otherwise interacting with people, you found solace in the black and white constancy of machines. Prestigious colleges across the nation sent you countless letters, begging you to attend, but you were content to hunch over at your computer desk, exploring alternative education. Through sheer dumb luck, you had monopolized on a business in puppet pornography, at first presenting it as a joke, but when it took off you were quick to seize the opportunity.

Currently, you were pacing across the wide, polished wood flooring of your living room, staring out the open glass, across, to the neighbor building. It was much older than your sleek, cutting edge abode, made of brick, with some ivy. The place was often occupied by lower-income families, college kids, but occasionally, some well-to-do folks would hole up in there, though usually not longer than a few weeks, probably on business.

A new resident had arrived, three weeks prior, directly across from where you stood.

From this distance, you can make out the interior living room, a few boxes, a computer setup, and a box of takeout. Very casually, you align your shades on your face, muttering to yourself.

Having been born with an condition that rendered you extremely sensitive to light, and sometimes sound, it had been only natural for you to fortify your constant accessory with helpful add-ons. Using your vast resources, you had managed to incorporate the beginnings of an AI, modeled after yourself, and integrate it to your eyewear, which doubled as a hands-free computer besides, with handy tools such as a camera, microscope, microphone, and basically anything you saw fit, in addition to being impermeable. It was extremely illegal, of course, but numerous safeties, bypass codes, firewalls, and antivirus kept even government officials unsuspecting. Many would liken you to a tinfoil hat wearer, but you just liked to be cautious.

Besides, it helped you do your job efficiently.

Due to your mechanical inclination, it had led you to study other types of machinery, including but not limited to the human psyche. You were very good at identifying human behavior patterns, especially in criminals, ranging from the petty thief to the serial killer. Most often, it took no more than a few moments in the same room with the suspect, and minutes at a crime scene to map out exactly what they planned or were planning.

Human beings were disgusting. Machines were so much less complicated.

Except for one small problem.

This girl. This new girl fascinated you. Not in the ways a killer did. There was something about her that drew you. Was it her dark hair, that reminded you of deoxygenated blood? The human body, after all, was just another--living--machine. Maybe it was her petite body, with impossibly long legs. No, no, not that.

She had a habit of sitting at her computer a lot. Your AI--which you had dubbed AutoResponder, or AR for short--had gathered a small amount of information on her, enough to tell you that she blogged professionally, and knew much more about computers than the average person, and to be wary. With her looks--she spent approximately twenty-eight minutes applying makeup and accessories--you would have pegged her for any of the girls that frequented the local bars, cuddling up on whoever looked like they had the most money. Which, now that you thought about it, she could easily do, and get away with, if she was as smart with them as she was with computers.

Over the past month, she had settled in, and she often left her apartment at around ten-thirty, returning as late as seven in the morning, completely sloshed, rising again a couple hours later as though nothing had happened. Her blog fanbase appeared small, but loyal, and with the variety of subjects she posted about, her witty comments and stunning appearance, it was bound to grow. In a very short time, you expected she would be contacted by high end magazines, websites--potentially the seedier ones if she wasn't careful. You imagine she's much too smart to fall for that garbage, though.

It was rare that someone held your attention like this. You were content to live a solitary life, away from other people--the further away, the better. Yet, this girl in particular, you wanted. You wanted her.

To say that you 'wanted' her was a very loose term. In fact, contact with other human beings, especially that of a sexual nature, made you cringe. No doubt, you were attracted to both sexes, preferring women, but, you wanted to keep them at a safe distance. While you enjoyed your private sexual endeavors, a relationship was the last thing you wanted.

Roxy, though…

In your mind, it was as if she invited you to keep an eye on her. She had a habit of leaving her blinds open, and while she didn't engage in anything out of the ordinary in comparison to other residents of the city, you had once--briefly--caught a glimpse of her changing.

When she left the shower in preparation to go out, she lounged around in a towel for a good twenty minutes or so, painting her nails or applying makeup--even playing a video game or reading. After that twenty minutes was up, she would sprawl across her bed, discarding the towel, and fully apply her makeup after choosing an outfit. Roxy loved to admire her figure. And she smiled, a lot. With your position, you were slightly above the frame of vision her wide, open windows offered, so you could look down into her room, but not the other way around.

She was gorgeous.

This evening in particular, she had applied her usual routine prior to barhopping, but she had become restless while choosing an outfit, instead tossing and turning over her bed, as though trying to decide the victor of some internal battle. You feel your pulse quicken, and your palms begin to sweat. Her long, pliant fingers traced circles over her stomach and navel piercing, and her lips were slightly parted. Upon closer inspection with AR, her gaze was unfocused, cheeks slightly flushed, with elevated heartbeat.  
You trace your lips with your tongue.

One hand dips slightly forward, and she scoots back against a pile of pillows on her bed, her hair obscuring her face. First, it's her middle finger, followed closely by the index, and they trace her folds, slowly and deliberately. Her shoulders relax in a sigh. She keeps herself meticulously groomed, with only a small tuft of hair in the front. The beauty mark on her cheek hops as she smiles. You really like the way she smiles. You imagine she knows you're watching. She's doing this all for you, of course. She likes it when you watch her. Your palms tingle, so you clench your hands into fists.

Her other hand glides over her chest, toying with each nipple in turn, and she mouths something to herself that you can't make out--all you can see is her dark, glossy lipstick shimmer. The stroking hand gets a little more adventurous, and one, then two of her fingers bury themselves knuckle-deep in her snatch.  
You let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding.

She's so glad you could make it. She wants you to really enjoy this. Or at least, her smile says as much, though she tries to hide it by biting her lower lip. Was that a third finger you saw disappear? Your cock jumps at the thought, straining against your dark jeans. With such a small frame, even with wider hips like that, you're amazed at how much she can take. She was either well-practiced, had a lot of flings, or a boyfriend--the thought of which makes you scoff. As if. After all, she was putting this on for _you._

She pauses, settling back into her pillows, and you let slip a quiet grunt of dismay. Unknowingly, you'd already begun to palm yourself through your jeans, the button already undone. Her body curls to one side, as if she was going to sleep instead of going out, and for a moment, you're disappointed. She doesn't appear to be interested anymore. Had you done something wrong?

Your heart leaps when she reaches towards her bedside table. Looking a little embarrassed, she unearths a bottle of lube, and a thick pink dildo the likes of which you've never seen. As she slicked it up generously with lube, you're positive she couldn't--

Oh.

_Oh._

Placing the toy vertically, she sat up on her knees, letting gravity do its work, and, bit by precious bit, she took it in. You groan loudly, scrambling to drop your pants, spitting hastily on your palm, and finally, finally giving yourself that much needed friction you craved. As your fingers knead and caress your shaft, you watch as half the toy disappears into Roxy, her face becoming fully flushed. Her whole body seemed to exude warmth, life, and the closeness of sexuality that you both yearned for and despised. She wanted you to experience this with her. Even if it didn't get you to come out of your shell, she didn't mind being your doll, your happy little fuck-toy. Just the very thought of owning her, having that kind of control, made you shudder. 

As much as you wanted to stay focused on her, your eyelids kept fluttering closed as your climax approached--and hers, too. Almost two-thirds of the useable length was slick with lube and her fluids. Briefly you wonder if she'd take your dick like such a champ. Your grip intensifies.

All at once, her movements increase in pace, and then slow, her body shaking with exertion. That was for you. She was just thinking about how good you'd feel in place of her toy, so much so that she couldn't hold back anymore. You were too much, as embarrassed as she was to admit it. She tried to be good and hold out for you, but sometimes you just had that effect on her.

Amazingly, even after such a trial, she picks up her pace again, unearthing a vibrator from her pillow pile. Her face contorts in the most delicious ecstasy you've ever witnessed--even by your standards, and you watched a lot of porn. Your vision blurs.

If you could just hold on a little longer--

But it's too late.

The next thing you know, you're staring at your cum-slicked hand, gasping for air, knees shaking so badly you can barely stand upright. There's a puddle on the floor, and a streak on the window, three feet in front of you. 

TT: What a mess.

TT: Dirk, you're positively embarrassing sometimes.

TT: I thought you found this degrading, and disgusting. 

You chuckle quietly.

"This _is_ degrading and disgusting."

You pause.

"Just like me."


End file.
